


The Great Event of 1928

by Melomaniac



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breakfast, Denial of Feelings, Divorce, F/M, Flustered Alec, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, M/M, Malec, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Non-Chronological, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Relationship(s), Plot, Slow Burn, flirty Magnus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 06:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melomaniac/pseuds/Melomaniac
Summary: Alec swallowed. He didn't know how to reply. This was what ruined him about Magnus Bane. The easy confidence, the glitter painted on his dark skin, the catlike stretch of his back as he bent to look over the body. There was something brazen about it, something beautiful, something terrifying.“Last time I checked,” he finally said, “You do not work for the Victorian constabulary.”“Not for lack of trying,” Magnus murmured, carefully lifting the victim’s arm with a gloved hand. “Interesting.” He flashed a smile up at Alec and kneeled down.Alec sighed, and followed.In which there is a mystery to solve, an Egyptian ritual, a brief musical number, a fight, and a romance.





	The Great Event of 1928

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the song "Let's Misbehave". (Believe me when I say I agonised over the title for far too long.)
> 
> I started writing this over a year ago. It's still unfinished, but I love it with all my heart, and I'm hoping that putting this first half out into the world will inspire me to write the rest. The setting, character roles and plot are all inspired by the show 'Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries', which if you haven't seen, it's on Netflix - you'll love it, I promise. The show follows a female detective in 1920s Melbourne - which is ultimately the premise I've stolen to make this an AU.
> 
> This is the most complicated plot I've ever written (which isn't saying a lot, actually), so there are probably going to be some issues with the timeline and the plot - if you notice something that seems wrong, please tell me; it will really help!

Detective Inspector Alec Lightwood of the City South police liked his job. He liked the structure, he liked the feeling of doing some good after the war - he even liked working with Jace, despite the fact that his adopted brother was courting a Miss Clarissa Fairchild, and was far too vocal about it for Alec’s taste.

There was only one true wrinkle, he reflected, on his otherwise perfect job, standing up from where he had been crouched next to the dead body on the floor. 

“Inspector! What a delightful surprise!” Magnus Bane, resplendent in purple silk, smiled widely as he barged through the door. Alec could spot Jace vainly reaching out to stop Magnus as the door closed behind him.

“Mr Bane, there is a body at my feet and a crying wife in the room next door,” Alec paused, “I'm not certain the word ‘delightful’ fits these circumstances.”

Magnus’s smile softened around the edges. “No matter the circumstances, you are always a delight.”

Alec swallowed. He didn't know how to reply. This was what ruined him about Magnus Bane. The easy confidence, the glitter painted on his dark skin, the catlike stretch of his back as he bent to look over the body. There was something brazen about it, something beautiful, something terrifying.

“Last time I checked,” he finally said, “You do not work for the Victorian constabulary.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Magnus murmured, carefully lifting the victim’s arm with a gloved hand. “Interesting.” He flashed a smile up at Alec and kneeled down.

Alec sighed, and followed. 

“Look here,” Magnus gestured to a dark circular mark, “It's the same tattoo as was on the body Simon and Raphael found last week. Curious, no?”

Alec stretched closer to take a look, humming absently in agreement. He traced the mark, noting the violently raised edges - it must have been done recently. Even so, it had more of a look of a scar than a tattoo. He looked at it and thought of the word ‘mutilation’.

“So we're looking for a serial killer now. Not only a serial killer, but one with a trademark of sorts,” Magnus continued, looking up from the body to Alec.

Alec shook his head. “You will not be looking for anyone, Mr Bane.” 

Magnus pouted. “Really Alexander, this would be much easier for the both of us if you accepted my help. You don't have to worry about paying a fee,” he winked.

“It's not the fee I'm worried about,” Alec pressed, shifting closer.

A lifted eyebrow. “Oh? Are you suggesting you worry about me, Inspector?” He tilted his head, playful smile sharpening as his eyes darkened. “With how coldly you've been treating me recently, how ever am I supposed to believe you?”

It was then that Alec realised how close their bodies were. He swallowed, and resisted the urge to do so again when Magnus’s eyes tracked the slow movement of his throat. Alec hated moments like these. He was a professional, goddamnit. He hated how easily Magnus could transform him into a wreck - just a few words, a few quiet glances, and he was destroyed. 

What could he do?

He turned his head away from Magnus to look once more at the mark on the victim’s arm. “You called this a trademark. I'd call it a brand. Thoughts?” he asked, holding out the olive branch weakly. Even with his eyes turned away he felt he could see Magnus’s gaze brighten with something fond.

“As always, Inspector, very intuitive,” he grinned, standing up to move to the other side of the body, as if recognising Alec’s need for space at the moment. Silently, he examined the victim’s neck and checked the other arm. “Only one mark, on the left arm, exactly the same as the last. There’s no obvious cause of death - odd, the last was stabbed. Oh!”

Alec looked up upon hearing Magnus’s exclamation. “Mr Bane?”

Magnus unfurled the victim’s right hand, revealing a torn scrap of scrunched up paper. He held it up proudly, like a child with a treasure. “A clue,” he beamed, standing up.

Alec shook his head with a smile as he followed Magnus to a nearby lamp on a crowded desk. He stood at his side while he straightened out the scrap. It had a single full edge, as if it had been ripped from the corner of a page. In the centre of the paper was a clearly printed number, 14.

“Fourteen?” Alec echoed. “Fourteen what?”

Magnus frowned. “Was it left by the killer, do you think, or was it the final act of the victim to provide us with this. If so, why?”

“It looks like it was ripped from a book, a page number, perhaps?” Alec suggested. He had hardly finished speaking before Magnus slipped the paper into Alec’s hand, and started searching the books on the desk. 

Shortly, Alec joined him, covering the other half of the desk, flicking through to page 14 on the first book he saw. Magnus worked fast, Alec noted, grateful, for once, for his help.

“Ah, here Inspector,” Magnus called out, Alec having searched only a couple of books unsuccessfully.

“Maybe you should be doing this job, rather than me,” he sighed with a smile Magnus mirrored.

“Don't be ridiculous,” he replied, fluttering his eyelashes deliberately, “Crime in this city would run rampant if you weren't here to stop it.”

“I think you overestimate my abilities, Mr Bane.” Entirely against his will, Alec’s voice had lowered to a private cadence. In the darkness of the room, it almost felt as if they were simply having another debate over dinner, prepared dutifully by Magnus’s butler, Mr Fell, in the comfort of Magnus’s dining room. His chest felt heavy. He cursed himself for the sentimentality of it all.

Magnus’s soft smile only worsened the situation, doubling the weight in his chest. “Inspector Lightwood, it never fails to surprise me that a man so observant could fail to see what is right in front of him.”

Alec clenched his jaw, staring hopelessly into Magnus’s frustratingly earnest gold eyes, gaze wandering every so often to the press of silver glitter against his cheek, or the pink of his lips. Shamelessly, as he could never be anything as pedestrian as ashamed, Magnus stared back, his own eyes darting smoothly between Alec’s furrowed brow and pressed lips.

“The book, Mr Bane,” Alec finally croaked out. 

Magnus fought visibly to avoid smiling, the edges of his grin sneaking through regardless. “Of course,” he said, and handed the book over diplomatically, “You'll tell me if you find anything.” It wasn't a request, like most things with Magnus, who quietly began to leave.

Alec frowned. “Normally it's much more of a struggle to convince you to relinquish evidence,” he called out. He watched as Magnus paused, halfway to the door, and spun on his feet to face Alec once more, purple silk of his jacket swaying behind him.

“I have a copy of that book at home I can flick through,” he said, “And Mr Fell is preparing me a lovely meal this evening.” A look akin to uncertainty washed over him. “Beef bourguignon, if I can tempt you to join me?” he asked, stretching out his arms as if to take Alec’s hands.

And what a temptation it was. Alec found himself desperately wanting to take those hands, to be pulled away, to eat beef bourguignon in candlelight with the Honourable Magnus Bane, pretend that it was something he could do every night. And when Magnus would offer those hands once more, at the end of the evening, eyes so very open and guileless, as he asked if Alec could be tempted to join him for a nightcap - Alec wished he could take those hands once more and follow him to his bedroom.

“I think - ” he started, looking down at the book in his hands, “I think I should work on the case.” He hated how he sounded when he said no.

Magnus was silent as he lowered his arms. “Perhaps another time.” His voice was quiet, and yet still so strong, even in this. Alec couldn't stand to hear it, either.

“Well,” Magnus breathed out, and turned finally to the door, “goodnight Alexander, enjoy page 14.” He left, it felt to Alec, exactly as he had came. In a whirlwind of silk and glitter and skin. It occurred to him that he hadn't asked what Magnus had been doing at the crime scene, so late in the evening. 

Perhaps it was best he hadn’t, he thought, when he finally looked at the cover of the book in his hands and couldn't help a smile at Magnus’s brazenness: ‘Erotica of the Far East’, indeed.

\-------------------

Magnus had been a problem ever since his return to the Antipodes, after years wasting away in English high society. Almost immediately after he had disembarked the SS Orient, he had become embroiled in solving the murder of Jocelyn Fairchild, an old friend - and, by unfortunate extension, in Alec’s life.

This particular murder, Alec reflected, had been significantly life-altering. Not only had it led to a year of bumping into Magnus at crime scenes, it had led to Jace’s annoying infatuation with Magnus’s personal maid, the late Mrs Fairchild’s daughter, and, more recently, his sister Isabelle’s even more annoying infatuation with one of Magnus’s personal cab drivers - Simon Lewis. The other, a Mexican migrant of the name Raphael Santiago, had managed to avoid any sort of romantic entanglement with Alec’s family, and seemed more than happy to remain that way.

Alec himself was avoiding romance, though not particularly by choice. His wife, Lydia, was currently living with a close female friend of hers far from Melbourne, and they were tentatively edging towards an amicable divorce - though it was nearly impossible that they would be able to secure the proper papers anytime soon. Divorce, it seemed, was for the rich. He couldn't help but see himself as stuck in this awful no man’s land between being married - married to a woman he had never loved the way he was supposed to, who had never looked at him the way Magnus did - and being a bachelor. In the eyes of the law he upheld and respected, even in a sham marriage, he was bound, and by the laws of his own morals he was an island, whom no man could touch.

And yet he had been happy. A year ago, he had been happy with the knowledge that, if he could never love the way his soul was constructed to love, he could at least be alone. 

Lydia had left with a smile, and nearly three months later Alec was called to the murder of Jocelyn Fairchild. He had entrusted the crime scene, an upstairs bathroom, to Jace, and had searched the rest of house. When he returned, Jace met him on the stairs, flustered, told him a man in a pink suit had distracted him and slipped into the bathroom. Alec had merely sighed - he hadn't known, how could he have possibly known - and opened the door to find an impossibly handsome Asian man, about his age, stood tall and unapologetic over the tape outline of the body on the tile.

“This is the scene of a crime,” Alec had said.

“Well,” the man in pink had began, and, oh, his voice, “lucky for you, I'm wearing gloves.” He had wiggled his fingers as if to prove it, before offering a hand to Alec with a confident smile. “Mr Magnus Bane.”

It was the beginning, as they say, of the end.

\-------------------

“So this is what happens before nine am.” Alec looked up, as Magnus swanned into his kitchen to find the table filled with an assortment of Mr Fell’s delights, and the seats with numerous guests. 

Jace had, he had told Alec earlier this morning with a slight blush, an open invitation to breakfast at Mr Bane’s house, extended to him by Miss Fairchild. Apparently, Alec too had an invitation, from Magnus himself, though Alec had not been aware of this until Jace informed him. It was two days after discovering the second Circle victim, and Alec had decided to join Jace for breakfast, in the hopes of speaking with Magnus about the case.

This had led to a very crowded table. Alec was being served by both Mr Fell and Miss Fairchild, with Jace on his right and both Simon and Raphael sat opposite him. The head of the table, of course, was reserved for Magnus. When Alec had inquired about his absence, Mr Fell had rolled his eyes. “I'm afraid Mr Bane isn't one for early mornings,” he had responded.

Therefore, it had been a surprise when Magnus entered the dining room, looking disheveled with a kimono jacket thrown over his night clothes. He looked blearily at the table, eyes widening with pleased surprise when he spotted Alec.

“Detective Inspector Lightwood! I see you've finally come to breakfast.” He smiled as he sat down and Miss Fairchild immediately began to fill his plate. Magnus stopped her gently by the wrist. “Why don't you sit down and eat, biscuit? I'm sure Constable Herondale is absolutely dying to talk to you,” he faux-whispered, gaze darting to Jace, who was fidgeting in his seat and staring intensely at his glass of orange juice.

Alec suppressed a smile as he watched Miss Fairchild blush and playfully smack away Magnus’s hand. While he didn't agree with Magnus encouraging their romance, he no longer held the same dislike for Miss Fairchild. She had, in Alec’s opinion, proven herself to be stubborn, if not worthy. She reminded him a little of Izzy.

“How can I help you, Inspector,” Magnus leaned towards him with a smile.

Alec returned it, shuffling in his seat a little. “How do you know I'm not here for Mr Fell’s scones?” he teased. 

“As delicious as they are, I'm not sure they're quite enough of a lure for you, Alexander,” he lowered his voice enough to be private. Magnus never called him ‘Alexander’ in public. Alec was sure if he was aware of that, or if Magnus did it on purpose - purred out ‘Alexander’ in that deep rumble - and kept it just for them.

“As always, Mr Bane, you are correct. I thought you would like to discuss the case.” Alec paused, and looked at the display of food on the table. “While I'm here, however, I believe I will try one of these scones.” 

Magnus nodded seriously. “Of course.” He was clearly stifling a grin. He motioned for Alec to take one, so Alec took two.

As he began to butter the scones, he spoke. “The victim was carrying a wallet, furnished with some very helpful ID. His name was Michael Wayland, he was 47, he had no children and lived with his wife. The council had his addresses listed, and it seems he was a particularly successful property owner,” he kept his voice quiet. He didn't particularly want any of Magnus’s staff listening in. They had the unfortunate habit of wanting to help.

Magnus frowned. “This is far too ordinary, so far. His wife found the body?”

“Yes. She returned from a high society event that night and found him dead in the study. I had Jace check her alibi, and numerous friends and staff can confirm her presence at the suspected time of death. Nothing suspicious about her or her story.”

“And the autopsy report?” 

Alec leant back in his chair. “A heart attack.”

“But you suspect foul play.”

“And you don't?” Alec countered.

Magnus tilted his head. “The tattoo. It is already far too much of a coincidence for two men with it to turn up dead within a week of each other. And when one was stabbed, clear murder, it stands to reason -”

“That the other was murdered too,” Alec continued, “My thoughts exactly.”

Magnus hummed an agreement absently. “Well, I flicked through my copy of the book and found nothing on page 14, or anywhere else. By the way, did you enjoy the illustrations, Inspector?” Magnus smiled impishly when Alec blushed. He started to eat the second scone. “I have to say I'm stumped,” Magnus finished with a sigh, “I have absolutely no idea where to look next.”

“Why don't you check out Starkweather’s tattoo parlour, on Albert Street. It's right near where we found the first body, maybe the circle’s a popular design,” Simon chipped in. Both Alec and Magnus turned to stare at him. “What,” he shrugged, “I've been investigating.”

Alec sighed. “Simon, it's a push allowing Mr Bane to aid me in this investigation. I can't have you and Raphael poking your noses in,” he stressed.

Raphael rolled his eyes. “Don't include me in this. This is all Simon.”

“Hey, we found the first body,” Simon sounded defensive but firm, “and it’s all I've been thinking about. I want to help.” He wilted a little under Alec’s frown. “I won't get involved, I promise, but I'll help however I can.”

Alec mulled it over. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Magnus’s lips curve into a moue of disapproval. “Come on, Alexander,” he whispered, “The poor boy was traumatised. He only wants to see justice done.” It wasn't a bad argument, and Alec was so very weak for Magnus.

“It's a good suggestion, Simon, I'll think about it,” he conceded, deciding to ignore Magnus and Simon’s shared look of success. He bit viciously into his scone.

Magnus stood up. “Mr Fell,” he called out, clapping his hands together, “I do believe I shall be out for the rest of the day.” He looked down at Alec, golden eyes sparkling. “The Inspector and I have a tattoo parlour to visit.” 

Alec had given up trying to stop him, but still attempted to stammer out a noise of disagreement as Magnus strode out of the kitchen, Miss Fairchild already hot on his heels. He turned to Jace to find a forlorn look on his brother’s face. He sighed as he put down the remains of his scone. “Finish your breakfast, Jace, we don't want Mr Bane to beat us there.”

\-------------------

Magnus had a music room full of instruments he couldn't play, including something that almost looked like a guitar, which he really could not play. When Alec found the room, however, his eyes had been drawn to the grand piano.

Without fully deciding to, he had sat down, the leather seat ever so accommodating, and opened the cover. He had begun to play, at first, just a few notes, and then, confidence growing, the beginning of a tune. It had been so long since he had played, and yet it was all there, in his fingers, waiting for him.

Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Magnus enter the room, and stopped. He felt embarrassed, as if he had been caught in the act of something forbidden. “I didn't mean to -” he tried to apologise, but Magnus waved it away with an elegant flick of his wrist.

“Don't stop on my account Alexander.” He had sounded eager. Alec had sent him a pleading look, which he had pointedly ignored, gesturing for Alec to play.

Unable to deny Magnus anything, he started to play something he had picked up from Isabelle, a song she had been listening to incessantly on the wireless when he came to visit. As the first few notes rang out, Magnus had come to perch next to him on the seat, smiling when he recognised the tune.

Without any prompting, Magnus began to sing. He seemed to purr the words teasingly, voice warm and deep. “We're all alone, no chaperone can get our number.” Alec turned his gaze from the keys to smile at him. “The world’s in slumber,” Magnus winked, “Let’s misbehave.”

Alec had decided to take a chance, and looked dutifully at the keys as he sang. “There's something wild about you, child, that's so contagious,” he heard Magnus gasp, and leaned slightly into his warmth, “let's be outrageous, let’s misbehave.”

Confidence growing, he had then looked up at Magnus, who joined in. “You know my heart is true, and you say you for me care.” Alec had bit his lip to stop himself from smiling too wide. “Somebody's sure to tell, but what the hell do we care. They say that bears have love affairs, and even camels,” their voices, imperfect and perfect all the same, had melted together, “we’re merely mammals, let's misbehave.” 

Alec had stopped looking at the keys altogether as he played, far too distracted by the knowing glimmer in Magnus’s eyes. “We're merely mammals, let's misbehave.” The final notes rang out. Alec had turned fully to face Magnus, grinning uncontrollably. It had been so long since he had played for someone else, for himself.

He had found himself entranced with Magnus’s soft smile. His hands had inched from the piano to find Magnus’s, which he then held between them, marvelling in the unexpected calluses and scars. The other man’s gaze flickered between the place where their hands met and Alec’s eyes, wondrously fond.

“I haven't played in a very long time,” Alec had said quietly, rubbing his thumb over Magnus’s palm, desperately willing him to understand.

Magnus had stilled the movement of his thumb by clasping Alec’s hand fully in his own. “Maybe you can come over some other time, and play for me again,” he had replied. 

Alec had nodded.

“Excellent,” Magnus crooned and stood up, “I'll pour you a drink. How does a martini sound, Alexander.” He didn't expect a reply, already halfway to the door.

Alec had looked down at his empty hands. They felt, suddenly, much colder without Magnus’s surrounding them with his familiar warmth. He had clenched his fists, and waited for Magnus to return.

\-------------------

Starkweather’s tattoo parlour was, Alec thought as he and Jace pulled up outside, exactly as he had expected it to be. The sign was shoddily painted, the door was rotten and rusting at the hinges, and the window was partly boarded up. Albert Street was completely empty, worryingly so, except for a car parked outside the parlour. A familiar Hispano Suiza.

“It seems that Clary and Mr Bane got here first,” Jace commented.

“We left before them, how - “ Alec protested.

“Alec, you know better than anyone that Mr Bane sees speed limits as suggestions, rather than laws.”

Alec paused. “Fair point. Come on, let's head inside.” He shook his head fondly. “Before Mr Bane has completely traumatised our tattoo artist.”

As they pushed open the door, the sound of the bell had Magnus and Miss Fairchild’s heads turning. They were stood in front of, presumably, Mr Starkweather, who himself was stood over a man chest down on a black leather cushioned table. The man was shirtless, and his back was heavily inked, proudly displaying a lengthy history of tattoos.

“Ah, Inspector Lightwood,” Magnus perked up, “can you please ask Mr Starkweather to answer my questions, he's being very difficult.”

At this, Mr Starkweather stiffened, his gaze darting between Alec and Magnus. “Inspector…” he muttered to himself as he set down his tools and stood up. His voice was surprisingly soft.

“Please,” Alec started, flashing his badge and noting Mr Starkweather’s nervous swallow, “answer any of mine and Mr Bane’s questions.”

Starkweather’s eyes once again flitted between Alec and Magnus, though they seemed to catch on Miss Fairchild. He squinted a little before frowning. “Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked, stepping out from behind the table. Behind him, Alec could feel Jace tense.

Magnus was already moving in front of Miss Fairchild, who swallowed and tried to hide her face. “I think you'll find, Mr Starkweather, that the person with the badge asks the questions.”

“And where’s yours,” Starkweather sneered, not backing down.

Magnus smiled coldly and straightened up. Suddenly he seemed taller, more threatening. The glitter on his eyelids looked like a battle scar. “Over there,” Magnus said, and pointed at Alec. His white painted nails were curved into perfect half-moons. Alec swallowed, an odd fluttering heat in his chest.

Starkweather seemed cowed, and shrank back from Magnus’s icy stare. “I'll answer your questions. But I don't have anything to hide.”

“Excellent,” Alec smiled blandly at Starkweather, “if that's true then this will be much easier for all of us.”

Starkweather led them all into a pokey back room, dark and faintly dusty, surfaces covered with old newspaper and, oddly, what seemed to be orange peel. Behind him, Alec could hear Jace telling Miss Fairchild to return to the car where she would be safe. Miss Fairchild huffed loudly, leaning forward to whisper something in Jace’s ear which had him wide eyed with fear. Before she left, Magnus stopped her quietly, and pressed something into her hands.

“Excuse the mess,” Starkweather mumbled. He idly shifted around some newspaper, as if trying to tidy.

Alec waited for Jace to fish out his notebook before asking a question. “How long have you ran this place, Mr Starkweather?”

“Twenty years,” he responded proudly.

“Even during the war?”

Starkweather scowled. “Course not. I fought like everyone else. I still dream of France.”

“And what happened to your tattoo parlour while you were in France?” Alec pushed. He wasn't sure where he was going with this line of questioning, exactly, but he had a nagging feeling. He hadn't gotten this far ignoring his gut.

His feeling must have been correct, because Starkweather swallowed. “I left it in the care of a friend.”

There. “Your friend,” Alec tilted his head, “he didn't fight?” Starkweather went silent, averting his gaze. 

Beside him, Alec felt Magnus shift from his position against the wall. He stepped forward gracefully and, as much as he could in the crowded room, started to look around. He lifted some orange peel daintily. “You seem to eat a lot of oranges, Mr Starkweather.”

“I don't eat them,” Starkweather scoffed. “One of my customers is a grocer. He gives me the peel from rotten oranges to use as practise.” 

“Practise?” Alec frowned.

Starkweather nodded, seemingly more relaxed. “Yeah. The peel’s the closest thing to skin you can get. Better to practise designs on fruit than myself.”

“Have you had to practise anything particularly memorable, recently?” Alec asked.

He shifted on his feet. “I do a lot of tattoos, Inspector. I do a practise run of all of them.”

“Let me elaborate,” Magnus cut in.“Is there a design that has become recently popular?”

“Popular enough to feature on the skin of two dead men,” Alec added.

Starkweather opened his mouth, then closed it, hands twitching uselessly at his side. His gaze flickered around the room helplessly. “I don't know what you mean, Inspector,” he settled on finally.

Magnus smiled sharply. Alec thought of the word predator. “Are you sure?” he asked as he took a step closer to Starkweather, who stumbled back with a gulp. 

Magnus lifted the newspaper Starkweather had fiddled with when they first came in to reveal a piece of orange peel. His expression didn't seem to change, but Alec knew him well enough to read the smug pride on his face. It was in the slight widening of his eyes, the new tension in his cheeks, the slight parting of his upturned lips.

Lifting the peel up to the light, the familiar circle design was clear. Black on fading orange. “I think this will prove otherwise, Mr Starkweather,” Magnus lingered deliberately on the words.

Eyes darting between the peel and Magnus, Starkweather stammered out some noise of denial, fists clenching on nothing. Suddenly, he bolted towards the door, where Jace stood focused on the notes he was taking. Before Alec could warn him, Jace’s head shot up, and he dropped his notepad when Starkweather charged straight at him. Jace tried to block the door, but Starkweather beat him to the punch, pushing him solidly backwards so that he stumbled and fell noisily into a cabinet. 

Alec rushed forward to follow Starkweather out of the room, Magnus following behind him sedately.

Already, Starkweather was nearly at the door. A flash of panic hit Alec; if they lost him, they had lost their only lead.

It was at that moment that the front door burst open, revealing Miss Fairchild, armed with Magnus’s golden pearl-handled pistol, expression set with fierce determination. “Hands in the air,” she ordered, and Starkweather did so. Miss Fairchild grinned at Magnus. “I've always wanted to say that.”

Jace got to his feet shakily and cuffed Starkweather, absently poking at a bleeding cut on his temple. Behind Alec, Magnus appeared from the back room, arms crossed and a pleased smile on his face.

“You gave her your pistol,” Alec murmured, stunned, “You knew he'd try to run.”

Magnus made a noise of agreement. “Constable Herondale underestimates her,” he said, as Jace and Miss Fairchild herded Starkweather through the door. When he tilted his gaze to Alec, his eyes were bright. “Just as you underestimate me.”

Neither man noticed the black car, as it slowly pulled up and parked at the far end of the road.

\-------------------

Alec had stepped out into the icy cold of the alley after a meal out with Magnus when it happened. 

Magnus was ahead of him a few metres, and had been stopped by a short, scruffy man with a bottle of cheap beer gripped in his hand, and a handful of pounds in the other. They appeared to be arguing, Magnus’s frown growing. It had made Alec strangely sad to see. In his opinion, Magnus should always be smiling, or laughing; he was born to be happy.

The sound of a harsh slap had rang through the alley. Alec was startled out of his daydream, and looked up to find Magnus towering over the drunk, face oddly blank. That was worse.

“You assume that because I am an Asian man in Australia with money, I must sell opium,” Magnus’s voice was harsh and cold, flat.

The drunk opposite him shrugged. “Well, do you?

Alec breathed in sharply. Magnus opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He swallowed, worked his jaw, and turned to face Alec. “Let's go,” he said quietly. 

Alec had watched as Magnus started to walk away, baffled. After a moment, he had started to follow, catching up with the shorter man’s stride easily enough. Alec gaze had flickered between the street ahead of them and Magnus’s face, but it was obscured by the darkness, lamplight only occasionally offering a glimpse at his pursed lips and unfocused eyes.

They had walked in silence for nearly three streets before Magnus spoke. “I hope you don't think less of me, Alexander, for hitting that man,” his voice was quiet, resigned almost, “he was clearly drunk out of his mind - I could smell the cheap rum on him from a mile off - he didn't know what he was saying, and I punished him for it.” 

Alec frowned. “Being drunk doesn't give him an excuse for being an idiot,” he said, and Magnus laughed weakly. “Besides,” he continued, “I could never think less of you.”

Magnus had stopped dead at his side. Alec walked a few paces before noticing, and turned to find the other man stood worryingly still in the dark. “Mr Bane?” 

He took a step forward, out of the darkness, so that his face was lit by the orange glow of the lamplight. Alec’s worry had only increased; Magnus’s eyes were shining with the unmistakable beginnings of tears, but refused to meet Alec’s. “I'm sure, Inspector,” Magnus had spoken, thick with some incomprehensible emotion, “that I could convince you.” 

Alec hadn't known what to say. He had stepped forward slowly, feeling as if each step meant something more than he could express, until he stood directly in front of Magnus. The other man still wasn't meeting his gaze. “Magnus,” and he looked up, finally, “try me.” 

He had appeared torn, between what Alec hadn't known. With a quiet sigh, he had closed his eyes, and Alec had wanted - more than anything - to know exactly ran through the mind of the Honourable Magnus Bane.

When his eyes finally reopened, they had a look of determination, echoed by the confidence with which Magnus tucked his arm into Alec’s. “If you insist,” he had murmured, and started to lead them both down the street once more.

“I was born a bastard child,” Magnus began quietly. “My mother was already married to a man she loved in the Dutch East Indies. My birth was certainly not her choice, and it broke her heart, drove her to madness. And finally opium. By the time I was ten she was so addicted she could hardly move. She hanged herself. Her husband was devastated, flinched at the very sight of me.” 

Magnus paused. “He tried to drown me in a nearby creek.” Alec drew in a heavy breath, and almost stopped walking. “I lashed out, and the next thing I remember, I was stood over him in the water.”

“Was he - ” Alec didn't know how to ask. Magnus nodded.

“I was terrified. I ran back home, and hid in the barn, until my uncle Asmodeus heard what had happened and came to the Indies. He tells me I was on the verge of death when he found me, hadn't eaten in days, was cold to the touch, curled up beneath a pile of hay.” Magnus had sounded uncertain. “He saved me.”

Magnus had gone quiet, as his house came into view. Alec had been silent, at first, trying desperately to arrange his thoughts - a riot of confusion, and sympathy, and anger that they lived in such a world that Magnus had experienced such pain at so young an age. “It wasn't your fault,” he settled on, finally, “you were a child. You cannot help how you are born.” It hadn't felt like enough.

“I know that, Alexander,” Magnus confirmed softly, “it took me years of guilt, and self-loathing, and an entire war for me to truly believe it.” They stopped at the red painted gate of Magnus’s house. “It doesn't change the fact that two people are dead because I live.”

He had slowly removed his arm from Alec’s, and Alec had no idea what to say. Words had never been his strongest suit. 

Deciding instead not to use them, he had grasped Magnus by the forearm and pulled him in close, folding him into his arms. Magnus had gone still for a moment before melting into the unexpected embrace. Alec couldn't help but to press a light kiss onto the top of his head, breathing in the heady scent of French cologne, and sandalwood, and something uniquely Magnus - something like burnt sugar.

He had let Magnus go, but kept a final grip on his shoulders, forcing the other man to look him in the eye as he spoke. “If you're determined to owe your mother and the man that tried to kill you anything, you owe it to them to keep living to the hilt,” he grinned crookedly, “not that I noticed you wasting a moment.” 

Magnus had swallowed, eyes glittering, chin lowered. He had looked as if he were about to say something when the loud click of his front door opening startled them both. Alec had dropped his hands from Magnus’s shoulders immediately. 

“Mr Bane, is that you?” Miss Fairchild had called out, rubbing at her eyes and yawning. Magnus’s gaze had flickered between her and Alec as if there was a choice to be made. 

Alec made it for him. “I think I should be heading home, Mr Bane,” he said, “thank you for inviting me to dinner.” 

Magnus had grinned softly. “I'll be in in a moment, Clary,” he called out, and waited until he heard the door shut, before leaning forward to press his lips delicately to Alec’s cheek. Alec could feel them heating. When Magnus pulled away, he had bit his lip in a visible attempt to avoid laughing, eyes focused somewhere on Alec’s cheek. Self-conscious, Alec reached up, and pressed his fingers to the spot, and pulling away found them lightly dusted with some sticky pink substance. 

Alec had felt his heart skip a beat. Magnus had been wearing lipstick.

“It was a pleasure, Alexander,” Magnus said as he undid the lock on his gate, “goodnight.”

Alec had nodded absently, stuck on the idea of the other man in lipstick - how on earth had he not noticed? He was so lost in thought that he barely acknowledged the movement of his own feet back down the street. He couldn't remember getting home, only sure that he did because of his last thoughts before he fell asleep: Magnus Bane, face blank in anger; Magnus Bane, eyes shining with almost-tears; Magnus Bane, lips curving gently into a smile, teeth exposed in unapologetic amusement. 

Magnus Bane - his heart had seemed to beat - a lullaby that lulled him to his sleep.

\-------------------

When they returned to the station, Magnus asked to use the phone, while Miss Fairchild sat Jace down and started to clean his head injury. Alec was left alone with Starkweather, who he led into the interrogation room.

Magnus finished his call just as Starkweather was sitting down, and swanned into the room with a swish of his silk scarf. He slid immediately into Alec’s seat, flicking an impish grin in his direction when Alec was forced to stand behind him, leaning against the wall.

Alec tried to frown disapprovingly, aware it probably came out more like a fond smile, and looked at Starkweather. Since getting to the station, he had been silent, face blank. He seemed to have lost all of his previous nervousness and irritability, for what was now something almost too calm. It set Alec on edge, made him shuffle where he stood, trying desperately to spot some sort of crack in Starkweather’s facade. Magnus seemed equally unsettled, though not as obviously. He leant back with lazy grace, smile wide and bland, the image of confidence - but his fingers were tapping against the table, and his head was tilted at an angle that made Alec think of confused birds.

“I'm going to talk,” Magnus said suddenly. “You don't have to say anything, you won't need to.”

Alec had no idea where Magnus could be going with this. He wasn't sure whether to stop the other man, or to let him continue. Usually, it was best to let Magnus work. He was far better at reading people than Alec, and always knew exactly what to say.

“Starkweather…” Magnus continued, when the suspect ignored him. “An interesting name. It's bothered me since I first heard it; it was familiar, though I couldn't tell why. So I called my uncle.” Magnus waved his hand airily. “Sometimes I have trouble remembering high society families, but Asmodeus never forgets.” Finally, there was a reaction. At the mention of his uncle, Starkweather tensed. 

Alec couldn't see Magnus’s face from where he stood, so he could only imagine the smug grin blooming on his lips. “Asmodeus told me about a man he knew in his youth, a Mr Aloysius Starkweather. Your great-grandfather, I believe.”

“No,” he spat, shooting up, “That man is no relative of mine.”

“Not any more, I imagine,” Magnus drawled, the satisfaction in his voice making Alec shiver. “I think I'm right. I think you were born into a wealthy family, a family mine knew well, and you disgraced them. They abandoned you, so you were forced to get a job at a nearby tattoo parlour, the only place that would take you. I imagine it was tough, at first, to go from a well-to-do young man to a working one.” Magnus tilted his head, considering. “You seem to have adjusted well, though. Maybe you had a friend help you along, a mentor.”

Starkweather swallowed and looked down. Now, Alec thought, now he had something to hide. “So you did have a friend,” Magnus murmured, “Perhaps it was he who looked after the tattoo parlour when you went to war.”

“The war,” Alec interrupted, something vague taking shape in this head. “You went to war, as you said, like everyone else - and yet, this friend of yours did not. Why? If he was too old to fight, how did you come to befriend him? If he was too young, how could he keep your parlour going?”

Starkweather was completely silent. He was shaking, just slightly, looking down. Alec could almost believe he was crying - but he still wasn't talking. They hadn't done enough, not yet. But what else? What else was there, what had they missed?

“You kept the name,” Magnus spoke slowly. “After your family abandoned you, you kept their name.”

Perhaps Starkweather felt this was a safe enough statement. “What of it?” he whispered.

“Well,” Magnus shifted, “why keep it? You seemed angry at the suggestion you were a Starkweather, angry about your connection to Aloysius. One would assume you would abandon the name the same way it abandoned you.”

The vague shape in Alec’s mind was growing more solid. Without realising, he stepped closer to the table, resting one hand on it so that he towered over Starkweather. It brought him closer to Magnus, almost tucked him into the space between Alec’s arms. He could smell him, this close up.

“Unless you didn't have a choice. Unless this friend of yours, this benefactor, preferred you keep it.” Alec's mind was a mess, he was only beginning to understand, he was fumbling around the edges of an idea. “Why would this man need you to be a Starkweather?”

Both Alec and Magnus were leaning forward, now, as their suspect leant back. He was trembling, gaze flicking up and down, up and down. 

Magnus was faster than him, questions already taking form. “What was it you could offer as a Starkweather? You were disgraced, you couldn't provide socially nor financially - what did he want, what was it you had?”

“Nothing!” Starkweather yelled, snapping finally. “I had nothing! I was alone in the world, out on the streets with nowhere to turn, and he set me up with a job! He gave me the tattoo parlour, free of charge! All he wanted in return…” he sagged suddenly, losing all fire, “All he wanted was my help, when he asked it. And that I kept my name.”

“Who was he?”

Starkweather shook his head. “Not that. Don't ask me that.”

Alec shared a look with Magnus, who shrugged, before turning to their suspect. “Why did he have you keep your name, then?” he questioned.

Starkweather hesitated. “He thought there was something special about my family’s lineage. He believes in, well, in blood purity - that's the best way I can explain it.”

Alec frowned. “Blood purity? What do you mean?”

“He believes that - “ Starkweather sighed, resting his hand on his forehead absently. “This is going to sound mad. I want you to know that I helped him out of gratitude, not out of belief in his cause.”

“Please continue regardless, Mr Starkweather,” Alec pressed dryly.

“Fine,” he paused. “My friend believes that certain people are descended from Ancient Egyptian Gods, and are capable of achieving eternal life, under specific circumstances.” At Alec and Magnus’s twin expressions of doubt, he shook his head. “I told you I don't believe it. But some people do. They find him, somehow, and he helps them too.”

Alec thought back to the tattoo branded onto the victims’ skin. “The circle. Your friend asked you to mark these people with it.” 

Starkweather nodded. “Years ago, he said that to pass to the afterlife they had to be marked by one with ancient blood before some kind of special ritual on a specific date. I owed him a favour - more than that, I owed him my life - so when he finally came to me, about a month ago, I agreed to do it.”

“Did you know that your friend was planning to kill them?” Magnus asked.

“Not exactly. I knew he thought he was granting them passage to the afterlife, but I didn't know he'd send them there. I assumed it was some sort of long term investment.”

“And has he tried to make contact with you since?” Alec wondered.

“Not after I tattooed Mr Pangborn.”

Alec froze, and Magnus tensed beside him. “Mr Starkweather, how many people have you tattooed?” 

He seemed confused. “Samuel Blackwell was first, then Michael Wayland. Last week was Emil Pangborn. My friend hasn't contacted me since.”

Magnus looked up at Alec, expression pinched. Blackwell and Wayland - their bodies had been already found. All they could do was seek justice for their murders. Now that there was a third potential victim, however, there was someone they could save.

Alec nodded to himself. It was time to get to work. “Thank you, Mr Starkweather, for your help. If you don't mind, we’ll be keeping an eye on you, in case he tries to contact you again.”

He gestured for Starkweather to stand, and he did. As he started towards the door, he paused, working his jaw. He turned back to face Magnus and Alec. “You should know, detectives, he plans on gaining eternal life too. He isn't from ‘ancient blood’, as he calls it, but knowing him…” Starkweather’s gaze gained a far-away look, as if deep in some memory. “Knowing him, this is how he's planning to achieve it.”

He blinked as he returned to the present before shuffling quietly out of the interrogation room. Alec watched through the now open door as he left the station, not before glancing at Miss Fairchild for a final time, expression strangely haunted. Interesting.

Magnus was silent in his seat for a beat. “He called us ‘detectives,’” he smiled.

“That doesn't make you one, Mr Bane,” Alec corrected.

“Oh, let me have some fun.”

Alec turned, intent on teasing Magnus some more, but his words caught in his throat. He hadn't realised how close they were. Somehow, Alec had migrated to where he was now: perched on the table, his right thigh pressed against Magnus’s right forearm, bending at the waist to lower himself closer to the other man, as if Magnus was the centre his body oriented around. The cologne he used was strong, sweet-smelling and woody - overwhelming in the way that only Magnus could be.

“We have very different definitions,” he finally murmured, “Of fun.”

“Not too different I hope.” Pushing the chair back with a quiet scratch, Magnus stood up. 

From this new angle, Alec had to tilt his head up to look Magnus in the eye, so he decided to look down instead, at Magnus’s shoes. They were quite plain, surprisingly. Shiny black, pointed at the toes, still. He realised he had nothing to say.

“We should go check on Jace and Miss Fairchild. I have something I'd like to ask her.” Alec received no reply. He rubbed his palms against his thigh absently, feeling oddly awkward. After a moment of silence, he stood up and moved toward the door.

“You're always running away from me,” Magnus said suddenly. “Are you scared I bite?” Alec turned to look at him. It was clear he was trying to tease, but his smile was too weak to be believable.

Alec swallowed. “Something like that.” It must have been too close to the truth, because Magnus looked at him steadily, and he had to fight the urge to squirm. 

“Is this because you kissed me, is that why you've been so skittish lately.”

And there it was, out in the open. “You kissed me back,” Alec tried.

“I know,” Magnus leaned forward daringly. “I'm not ignoring it. You're the one who seems to want to.”

“It's not that I want to - “

“Then what is it you want, Alec.” Magnus pleaded. “Because I'm trying to understand.”

“I - I don't - “ Alec stuttered out. “I'm not - “ He had nothing to say, nothing to say. He didn't know what he wanted. (Or maybe, a traitorous voice in his head whispered, maybe he'd just never wanted anything as much as he wanted Magnus.)

“Stop,” Magnus held up his hand. When Alec immediately went silent, he sighed, and looked away. “This isn't the time, you're right. We should go talk to Clary. It's odd how Starkweather looked at her.” 

He pushed past Alec and stepped towards the open door. Alec had a sudden flash of icy cold fear; he didn't want this. “Wait, Magnus,” he spun on his heel as he reached out.

“Don't.” Magnus sounded oddly desperate. Something in it stopped Alec, froze him in place even as Magnus walked away, white scarf rippling over his shoulder - déja vu.

He always got this part wrong, somehow. He was always left behind in an empty room, feeling as if he had lost a game he didn't know he was playing, a game he couldn't win.

Maybe it would never hurt any less than this.

\-------------------

A few weeks before Simon and Raphael found the first Circle victim, Alec had taken Magnus up on his offer for dinner. Mr Fell had prepared an Italian pasta dish, and Magnus had lit a single candle, bribing Alec with good wine and heady conversation.

Magnus had shared stories of his post-war years in Paris, why he was legally banned from Peru, had even told him how he lay awake at night thinking about the war - the image of silent, screaming loneliness on a battlefield, men bleeding out beside him, haunting him.

In return, Alec told Magnus about his mother, the pressure he felt from her to marry, and then about his wife. There wasn't much to say about his wife. He told Magnus about his childhood, Izzy and, later, Jace, and years spent climbing trees - or more accurately, stopping them from falling out of trees and breaking something - the three of them against the world. He shared his quiet reservations about Clary and Simon, about the pain he feared they would cause his siblings. He listened to Magnus as he extolled his staff’s virtues, and found himself trusting the safety of Jace and Izzy’s hearts in their hands.

They had trailed off to silence, eventually. It was dark outside, and had been for some time. Alec had been desperate to stay, knowing he had to leave, praying silently to a god he didn't worship that Magnus would ask him to stay.

Magnus had. He had held out his hands and offered Alec a drink, leading him away from the dinner table and over to the cushioned window seat in his living room, not letting go once they had sat down. A light breeze from the partially open window had ruffled Magnus’s unusually untamed hair. Alec remembered how soft it had looked, how touchable. 

In fact, Magnus himself had look touchable that evening, less like a whirlwind made of glitter and teasing grins, and more like a man. For once, Alec felt like their feet walked the same earth. 

He couldn't have stopped himself from reaching out and tucking a lock of Magnus’s hair behind his ear once it had been loosened by the breeze. He couldn't have stopped himself from pressing his thumb lightly into the heat of Magnus’s cheek, especially when the other man had gasped so softly in response.

Alec wasn't sure who was more surprised when he gripped Magnus’s jaw to tilt his head, and pressed their lips together in a spine meltingly gentle kiss. Perhaps it was Alec, who almost immediately froze, eyes halfway closed. Perhaps it was Magnus, who did the same. Or perhaps it wasn't surprising at all. Perhaps it made perfect sense that a moment later Alec’s eyes shut, and Magnus pressed forward, and the hand cupping his jaw spread wide over his neck, creeping down his back to rest on his hips.

He could have lost himself in it. He almost had. It was a wonder he had managed to pull back before it went too far. Weeks later, he would lie awake at night, lost in the memory of Magnus’s lips and eyes and hands, and wonder what on earth had had the power to stop him from taking as he had wanted so desperately to. Magnus would have let him, he was sure of it.

Somehow, he had pulled away. 

He had pulled away, time running at half-speed, feeling like he was in another place, like it was a different man watching Magnus’s closed eyes flutter open, watching his bitten red lips part. Alec’s thumb continued to rub circles into Magnus’s cheek, until he could see faint traces of transferred glitter coating them. They had stayed like that, pressed close and breathing the same hot air, for an eternity. Alec felt drunk - was drunk, he was a lightweight and Magnus had plied him with two glasses of very good wine - and magnetised. The tips of their noses were brushing together lightly.

He had a sudden moment of clarity. He felt he could see his life as a line, straight and ordinary. He felt he could mark the moment Magnus had invaded his life - a sudden and overwhelming curve. He felt he could see his future: bending endlessly where you would least expect it to go. The Magnus effect. Uncertain.

And he had been terrified. He was a married man, what was he doing? Instantly, the gold of Magnus’s eyes was too bright, too alive, and his skin had been blisteringly hot on Alec’s hand.

He had startled backwards, out of Magnus’s orbit - burned. At first, Magnus had looked confused. His hands had hung almost comically in the air, holding onto an invisible imprint of Alec. Then, the moment he realised what Alec was feeling - one look in his eyes was all it would have taken, Magnus knew him too well - those hands had dropped. His face had hardened and softened all at once. It made Alec feel like he was a wild animal, and Magnus was afraid of spooking him.

Alec had swallowed, and stammered out some sort of excuse - something vague about the time - and stood up.

As always, Magnus had let him go. “Of course,” he had said with an understanding smile. “It's late. I'm sure you can show yourself out.” He had lifted his glass from the nearby coffee table in a mock toast. Alec felt sick.

On his way out of the living room, he had glanced over his shoulder, and saw Magnus staring blankly out of the window, hand resting faintly on the fabric of the curtains, as if to push them away. For a moment he had wanted to stay, but his heart was still beating too fast. Magnus had looked too distant, too ephemeral, as if he could turn to mist.

So he had left. He hadn't looked to the window, he hadn't seen whether Magnus was waiting there, watching him walk away.

When he had returned to his flat, it had never felt more empty. He had never felt more empty.

Oh, how he hated what Magnus did to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got about 5000 more words already written but it's slow going. The problem with writing plot is that you've actually gotta conclude it, huh, who knew??
> 
> i don't mean anything by this but, uh, comments are pretty good faster-writing fuel. just saying.


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